


couldn't utter my love when it counted

by holysins



Category: Guns N' Roses
Genre: M/M, when u try to write an angsty fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 04:53:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20501213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holysins/pseuds/holysins
Summary: izzy can't bring himself to tell duff "i love you."





	couldn't utter my love when it counted

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from a hozier song because i am Not Creative like that :) 
> 
> lmao hope its not trash!

Izzy doesn’t know what time it is when he finally pushes the heavy door open, his footsteps loud and echo-y against the tiled floor beneath him. It’s quiet, almost eerily so, and from the kitchen window he can see the gradient wake of the sun just starting to peek out from behind the mountains, rising slowly, slowly, slowly in the navy-blue sky.

The sound of his heartbeat is loud in his ears and pounds rhythmically, reminiscent of a drum as he stumbles over to the worn couch and then lets himself _collapse_. All his blood immediately rushes to his head, and _shit_, now he’s starting to see tiny silver stars dancing across his field of vision and—

It’s five a.m., he realizes. Maybe a little later, but it’s _five a.m. _regardless and he hasn’t slept since yesterday, he realizes as well—or, that is, if you can even count the two hours he’d spent tossing and turning in bed, delirious; conscious but _not _at the same time, all the while still careful not to wake Duff who was fast asleep next to him.

So he gives in and lets his eyes close, eyelashes casting wispy, angelic shadows on his high cheekbones, the side of his face bathed in the soft morning sunlight. He wants to stand up, to drag himself into his bedroom, to curl up next to Duff and drift off with the blonde in his arms but he can’t so he settles for _this_, for passing out alone on the couch at maybe a little past five a.m. when he should’ve been back hours ago.

And he doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes up next, either, just that it’s much lighter out now and Duff’s in the kitchen slowly sipping a cup of coffee, and he needs to _apologize_, he knows that he does—

When he tries to speak his voice comes out hoarse and trembly, and Duff’s staring at him—no, staring right _through him _and he so desperately wishes he knew what to say, where to start, _how to say it_.

Duff’s voice is flat, not an ounce of emotion in it, eyes flickering to the countertops and it stings, it _hurts _to watch. “Wanna tell me where you were all night?”

Izzy blinks. Takes a breath. Opens his mouth, closes it just as quick, drops his eyes down to the counter too, taps his fingers nervously. He can’t speak even if he wanted to—which he does.

He stays silent for too long. 

And he jumps a little when Duff suddenly _slams_ his palm down on the counter and yells, “You know what, _fuck this_, I’ve had enough. I can’t fucking deal with this _shit _anymore, Iz,” and that’s when the tears begin dotting the corners of his eyes, too. 

“You don’t even talk to me anymore, for fuck’s sake!” Duff continues, and each word cuts Izzy deep like a knife. “And I don’t know where the hell you are half the time, and—”

“Duff, please,” is all Izzy can manage to say, but it’s not enough and he knows that it's not enough, not even close, and god _damn _it he wishes he could say _more_.

Duff sets his coffee down a bit too hard, causing it to splash up over the edge of the cup and onto the already-stained counter. Izzy watches as he tugs his hand through his bleached hair, except his roots are starting to show and Izzy knows Duff hates it when it gets like that but he thinks it looks even better all grown out and—

“That’s not gonna—” Izzy can hear the shakiness in Duff’s voice, can hear all the cracks and all the breaks and, “That’s not gonna _work _anymore, Izzy. I can’t fucking keep doing this. I can’t stay with you anymore because I _know_ that you’re never gonna love me like I love you.”

And there it is, the twist of the knife and Izzy can feel every last bit of it, can hardly breathe due to the pain.

He twines a hand through his own hair, staring up at the ceiling to stop the tears from falling like they threaten to.

_I do love you. _

He sneaks a glance at Duff, whose teeth are sunken into his lower lip, lips curved into a frown.

_I love you so much. _

“See, Iz, this is what I’m fucking talking about!” Duff says—no, he screams it, his voice bouncing off the too-thin walls and hitting Izzy right in the fucking chest—and Izzy chokes back another sob because _damn_ does it _hurt_. “I can’t keep—Izzy, I can’t.”

And then he’s pushing his way past Izzy, then down the halls, and finally into their bedroom probably, and Izzy can’t move because it's all _too fucking painful_.

It doesn’t take long at all for Duff to return, and this time he's holding a bag packed full of everything that’s _his_, green eyes teary and hands quivery. He brushes past Izzy without a single word, and Izzy follows him to the front door, runs after him, _chases _after him and Duff pauses for a moment, his fingers curled around the door handle.

Then he turns around, his eyes piercing right fucking _through _Izzy again, and Izzy says, frantic, “Wait, Duff, please wait—”

_Please don’t go. I love you. _

Duff arches a brow, wipes a few tears from his cheeks. Izzy’s thoughts are racing and he can’t get them to fucking stop, can’t get the words to leave his god damn mouth and now Duff’s turning the handle and walking out and _he fucked up_.

“Bye, Izzy.”

The door slams, loud and echo-y in the now empty apartment and Izzy finally lets himself cry, no longer trying to hold his sobs back. Fuck that, fuck it all. He makes his way to the now empty bedroom, kicks off his shoes, falls onto the bed in a slump.

The room is dim, curtains still closed. Izzy shuts his eyes and all he can see, stamped into the backs of his eyelids, replaying, is Duff walking through that door. The bed’s still unmade and all he can hear are Duff’s words... Duff’s words, along with the ones he couldn’t fucking bring himself to say.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr, its @looksthatkilled


End file.
